Campfire Tales from the Commonwealth
by Pinoko K
Summary: Random short stories from the Wasteland. They are definitely not to be taken seriously. Really. Ch1: Every faction has a secret weapon. What is the Institute's secret weapon? Ch2: Deacon loves to read. But when did he start? Ch3: It's Nora's birthday. Shaun has a gift for her. Ch4: Tradecraft: The Ultimate Guide to Being a Spy.
1. The Institute's Finest (Father)

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Random short stories from the Wasteland. They are definitely not to be taken seriously. Really.

Chapter 1: Every faction has a secret weapon. The Brotherhood has a giant robot. The Railroad has Deacon's sunglasses. What is the Institute's secret weapon?

Campfire Tales from the Commonwealth

1\. The Institute Finest

He walked into the a pristine office. The walls were all white, the floor polished. Behind a desk, an old man sat, waiting for him.

"Ah, there you are," said the old man, the director of the Institute. Everyone called him Father. Ironically, the man didn't have a biological child of his own – at least not one conceived and produced the old-fashioned way.

"Are you ready for your assignment?" asked Father.

"I was born ready!" No, that wasn't an exaggeration, nor was it an overconfident statement. He was, in fact, created for this task, and this task alone. He was the prototype. The one and only. The result from the genius minds of the best scientists this world had ever seen. He was the best infiltration unit ever. Hell, he was the best synth the Institute had ever created!

His boss, however, merely looked indifferently at him. "There is no room for mistake."

"Yes, sir." He tuned his eagerness down a notch or three. Humans – they're such an unpredictable bunch. No matter, he would have more than enough time to observe them, to study them, to sniff out their weaknesses, and then... to manipulate them.

After all, who's the best spy that ever spied? He was!

"There will not be any backup for a foreseeable time," Father continued. "You're alone in this."

"Don't worry, boss. I've got ya cover."

"Not me. Your job is to protect our subject."

"Right. Our subject." Whatever. Humans. They're all the same.

The old man looked doubtful.

"Don't worry, boss," he quickly assured his boss before the old man changed his mind. "Retrieving is in my blood- I mean, program."

"Very well." Father reached for a device on the desk. "One more thing before you go. Come here."

"Wait. I hate needles!"

The old man held the scanner up and let him see the harmless looking device. "I'm not giving you a shot. I'm simply changing the setting on your vocal module for now."

He approached, though hesitantly. "This won't hurt, will it?"

"Not a bit." The device didn't even touch him as Father remotely scanned the top of his skull. "There. All finished. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," he said, but all that came out of his mouth was a 'woof!'

"Good. Now, go. You know what you have to do, K9-007."

"Wish me luck, sir!" Again, words came as two loud barks, as Agent K9-007 stood on his hind legs and gave his boss a sharp salute.

The Institute needed him. The world needed him. The future of humanity now rested on the sturdy back of the best synthetic dog, who would later be only known by the stupid name Dogmeat.

 _Dogmeat? Seriously? Jesus Fuc-!_ Woof!

* * *

A/N: This short story was written for tomberi-no. For all the drawings, all the gifs, all the support! Thank you!

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.


	2. Tale As Old As Time (DeaconNora)

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Random short stories from the Wasteland. They are definitely not to be taken seriously. Really.

Chapter 2: Deacon loves to read. That's no secret. But when did he pick up this hobby? Nora asks the question.

Campfire Tales from the Commonwealth

2\. Tale As Old As Time

A quiet night, a book, a worn couch, and his partner in crime. Those were everything Deacon could ask for when he had a rare chance to strip off his latest disguise and put his feet up.

Here in one of their undisclosed safehouses, Deacon savored his downtime as he reread one of his old books for the tenth time.

He was lying on the couch, his head on her thighs. Yes, he was using her as his pillow. But then, she was using his chest as her armrest. Neither complained about the other's invasion of personal space. Somehow, somewhere along the line of their partnership, they'd grown closer to each other than either of them would openly admit.

In her hands was his copy of Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time. His prized possession. And she was treating it with so much care and tenderness that made him jealous of his book.

For a long, peaceful moment, the only sound was the occasional page flipping. One page from his book, one page from hers.

With his eyes safely hidden behind the ever-present sunglasses, his gaze shifted from the words and traveled up to the face above. Most of her face was covered by the book, except for the eyes. Those eyes...

As if she could sense his gaze, Nora suddenly glanced right at him. Careful not to move one muscle, Deacon pretended that he was still very much engrossed by Twain's plot twist. Except he was not.

Mentally, Deacon counted to three then flipped the page, all before he tilted his head ever-so slightly to the side as though he just realized her attention was on him.

"Hm?" he made a noise, arching one questioning eyebrow.

"When did you pick up this hobby?" Nora asked.

Deacon knew what she was asking. But it's too good of a chance to pass up for a little fun. "This? Remember that one time we were so tired we passed out on the couch. I ended up sleeping on your lap. Best sleep ever. So, yeah, since then."

His partner gave him a pointed look. "I meant reading."

"Did I tell you I crawled out of my mother's womb holding a book in my tiny hand?"

She snorted. "Well, you did have to spend nine months in there. Anything to pass time, right?"

"Exactly." Deacon grinned. This woman put up with his bullshit like no other; for that, he was forever grateful. "Seriously, though. I didn't like to read when I was young. That's like centuries ago... before the bomb dropped."

By now, both of them had put down their books. Neither had any intention to move from their comfortable positions as they carried on the conversation.

"What changed?" she asked.

"A girl," he told her. "Tale as old as time, I know. But it's true."

"What's her name?"

"Belle. She loved to read. Her mom died, and her dad worked for a caravan. She was alone most of the time. So she read, you know, to escape the lonely world. She had both the beauty and the brain, a very rare combo."

"What happened?"

"Well, one day, her dad came back and told her he owed someone a whole lot of money. Gambling debt or something. They'd to pack and skip town. She didn't want to go. So, she went to talk to the big honcho. Turns out, he's this big, giant, ugly guy with hair all over. Like a human yao guai. And he trapped her in his haunted mansion and said she couldn't leave until she fell in love with him..."

It was then Nora's soft expression hardened into an exasperated glare. "Beauty and the Beast, you bastard." She gave his chest a playful but sound smack.

"Ow!" Deacon laughed hard as he sat up and left the comfort of her lap. "Can't believe you bought it," he said after catching his breath.

"You owe me a real answer," said his partner in crime. Her expressive eyes narrowed in a warning, but her mouth betrayed her. The corners of her lips curled up on their own, then came her faint snickers. All was well.

"Another time," he told her, grinning. "Promise."

* * *

A/N: Random Deacon scenes that won't be included in "Project Wanderer" will be dumped here. Stay tune.

Contact info: gmail – pinoko19, tumblr – pinoko-k.


	3. Mother's Birthday (Father, X6-88)

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Random short stories from the Wasteland. They are definitely not to be taken seriously. Really.

Chapter 3: It's Nora's birthday. Shaun has a surprise gift for Nora.

Campfire Tales from the Commonwealth

3\. Mother's Birthday

Mother's birthday. That was a new event to the old man.

For sixty years, he had lived without a parent. And now, he had a mother. A mother half his age, but still, his biological parent.

Shaun teleported to the filthy surface world against his own wish. His mother had chosen to take up residence in the Commonwealth instead. Why? He'd never understand. But it was her choice.

And today, because of her choice, he stepped on the dusty pavement and walked into a house he'd once lived as an infant. His old home, although he had no recollection of whatsoever. His mother had made this her home again. Shaun disapproved of her decision, but then again, it was her choice.

With a thoughtfully chosen, perfectly wrapped gift in his hand, Shaun knocked on the front door.

There was no answer.

He tried his luck and turned the knob. The door opened.

The living room was empty, so was the kitchen. Mother was not yet home, apparently.

Curious, Shaun studied the place that had once been a happy home for his... family. He could almost see a robot at the kitchen, his father on the couch, and his mother holding an infant, walking up the down the hallway.

What was his old room like? the old man wondered.

Shaun walked down the short hallway and found a room on the right with its door wide open. An empty, rusty crib in the room told him that this had once been his world. A strange, bitter yet sweet feeling rose from inside. He was home. After six decades, he was home-

A sudden noise from the room across startled him. Shaun turned and glanced at the close door across the hallway.

Should he call for reinforcement? He was weaponless, defenseless. The answer was obvious.

"X6-88, report to my position immediately," said Shaun to his hidden communication device.

Less than a few seconds later, the tall man materialized next to him.

"Sir?"

Shaun nodded at the sealed door. It was all X6-88 needed. With his weapon in his hands, the courser quietly stalked to the door then flung it open.

Then came an audible gasp from the stoic man in black.

"What's going on?" asked Shaun, approaching the courser.

The courser slammed the door close before Shaun could peek in. "Nothing, sir. Just a... molerat."

"Then kill it," said Shaun, frowning. "Can't have a molerat in my mother's house."

"Perhaps it's Mrs Taylor's... pet, sir. We should leave the present behind and head back."

"Why would mother keep a molerat as a pet? It's unsanitary. Get your gun ready."

Shaun pushed the courser away and opened the door. It was the biggest mistake in his life.

Lying on the bed, tied up with a giant ribbon was a bald man, wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of sunglasses.

Both the old man and the bald one screamed in absolute terror.

* * *

A/N: Disclaimer: This story was written on a tablet, in bed, while having a fever and heavily medicated by cold medicines. It was originally composed in an email, as an impromptu story to annoy a friend whose name will not be revealed.

Thanks for reading.

(If you're waiting for Project Wanderer update. I'm sorry, I've been sick. Cold, fever and all that great stuff. A new chapter will be up in a week or so.)

Contact info: gmail - pinoko19, tumblr - pinoko-k.


	4. Tradecraft (Deacon, Nora)

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Bethesda.

Random short stories from the Wasteland. They are definitely not to be taken seriously. Really.

Chapter 4: Tradecraft: The ultimate guide to being a spy.

Campfire Tales from the Commonwealth

4\. Tradecraft

 _Publick Occurrences_

 _Special Edition_

 _Tradecraft: The Ultimate Guide to Being a Spy_

 _By Anonymous_

 _[Editor's note: The following is part one of a special series written by a secret agent, who shall remain anonymous.]_

 _It's a tricky business, being a spy._

 _There are books that tell you everything about tradecraft - the ins and outs, the do's and don'ts. But you won't find a book that will tell you what to look out for when you're off-the-clock. That's because, in our line of business, there is no off-the-clock._

 _But, that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun every now and then. After all, we're humans, right? And what's more fun than a roll in the hay? [Editor's note: Actual formication on top of a stack of dried weeds is not recommended.]_

 _To all you youngsters out there, yes, I do mean sex. And, like many enjoyable activities out there, there is a dangerous side to sex. For the rest of the population, the potential dangers included and not limited to: unwanted pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, strained muscles, lices, bedbugs, etc etc._

 _For spies, though, it's all of the above, plus death._

 _Yes, death. Think about it: Can you think of a more vulnerable situation than being naked and weaponless? Unless you are into some sort of spicy foreplays, the chances of you bringing a knife or a whip (or even a gun) to the bed are slim._

 _So, does it mean you can't have sex if you're a spy? Of course not._

 _Here, I will give you a list of things to look out for when you do the deed:_

 _1\. Never go all naked. In case things turn south (and I don't mean your private part) and you need to bolt, running around the city naked would attract more attention than you'd ever ask for._

 _2\. Never head back to a room you have not previously searched. Meet a stranger at the bar (Not the best idea, but hey, things happen)? Go back to your hotel room. Don't have a room beforehand? Go get one. Don't have money for a room? Do it in the dark alley, any semi-public place where you can run. The point is, anywhere is safer than a stranger's room. You'd never know what they hide under the pillows or the mattress._

 _3\. Which brings us to the next point. Never get pinned down by your partner. Stay on top, no matter what. Pin them down, preferably on their stomach. That way, they cannot attack you._

 _4\. Never, ever, agree to be handcuffed or tied up, and/or blindfolded. No amount of heightened sensations is worth the risk of losing your own life._

 _5\. Do not fall asleep. If your partner flops down and head straight to dreamland, it's time for you to bolt. If your partner stays up for a bit, it's also time for you to bolt. Falling asleep next to someone is an invitation to have your properties stolen and/or your throat slit._

 _6\. And finally, the most obvious point. Always be aware of your surroundings. Before, during, and after the act. Even if you're dead certain you are alone with your partner, the world doesn't stop when you're having a little sexy time. Your enemies sure don't. And what's a better time to get rid of a target when said target is fully occupied? Who is to say your partner of choice is not the bait of a honeypot or an integral part of a long con?_

 _So there you have it. Always stay vigilant, even when (especially when) you think you're safe. Because your next mistake could be your last._

* * *

When Deacon found himself lying on his back, fully naked, with his partner-in-crime straddling him, pinning him down, he knew he was fucked - in more ways than one.

All the cautions, common sense, and survival instincts were thrown out of the window. Primal instincts took over. That, and something deeper, something rare.

Trust.

He trusted her. And if she should betray this trust, he'd rather have her stab him to death.

It was at this moment that Deacon realized, against his better judgement, against his professionalism, he had fallen head over heels in love. And it scared the crap out of him.

The fear soon melted away quickly when all he could feel was absolute bliss.

Perhaps this time, it would work out just fine.

If not, well...

* * *

A/N: Another piece written when I was sick. I will get back to Project Wanderer and write more serious and plot-related things from now. Hope to see you over there!

Contact info: gmail - pinoko19, tumblr - pinoko-k.


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